


Fraying

by sahiya



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soul Bond, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 09:26:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13761141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: “It’ll be fine,” Dylan told him dully after the draft was over. They were in Connor’s room, wrapped up around each other. For the last time, probably. “It might take a while but it’ll... it’ll break eventually.”“I don’t want it to,” Connor said. “I don’t want it to break. Dylan, I love you.”“Me too,” Dylan said. His voice cracked. “But we gotta––we can’t play if––we gotta hope––”They had to hope it broke. Even if it wasn’t what either of them wanted.





	Fraying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adamsgirl42 (eddiessofa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddiessofa/gifts).



> This was written for adamsgirl42 for the prompt "telepathic truama" in my [2017 Fuck Trump H/C BINGO Fundraiser](http://sahiya.dreamwidth.org/736914.html). 
> 
> Many thanks to saudades for beta reading. Warnings for very, _very_ brief mention of suicidal thoughts.

“There’ll be a period of adjustment,” everyone said. “The first couple games will be rough, but you’ll get used to playing unbonded. Four, maybe five games and you’ll feel like you did before, and by halfway through the season you’ll be ready to accept a bond with someone on your team, if they’re compatible.”

Literally _everyone_ said this to Connor after the draft, when the Oilers took him but not Dylan. Connor had known that was a possibility, but he thought they had both pretended it was a lot less likely than it was. Who wouldn’t want the #1 _and_ #3 draft pick who were already bonded with each other, after all? Sure, taking advantage of the bondmate clause meant giving up a future first round pick, but so what? 

Only it seemed the Oilers had had other plans. When it came time to draft Dylan, they passed. And that wasn’t supposed to be a problem, because everyone knew that hockey bonds were useful but weak, on the scale of bonds. Maybe a two, a three at the outside. Easily broken. 

Connor wondered how many hockey bonds were like the one he had with Dylan. He’d always thought there were probably more than anyone suspected, but of course no one talked about it. 

Romantic bonds didn’t just disappear. Not strong ones. They’d never had the testing done, for obvious reasons, but Connor was pretty sure they were at least a six or a seven. 

“It’ll be fine,” Dylan told him dully after the draft was over. They were in Connor’s room, wrapped up around each other. For the last time, probably. “It might take a while but it’ll... it’ll break eventually.”

“I don’t want it to,” Connor said. “I don’t want it to break. Dylan, I love you.”

“Me too,” Dylan said. His voice cracked. “But we gotta––we can’t play if––we gotta hope––”

They had to hope it broke. Even if it wasn’t what either of them wanted. 

***

The first headache took up residence at the base of Connor’s skull barely three hours after he arrived in Edmonton. He knew to expect it. Everything he’d read said that nothing really helped but Excedrin might take the edge off. He took two and went to practice.

No one expected him to be brilliant the first day. They knew about his bond with Dylan, knew he’d be playing with a handicap at first. That was what the preseason was for, to get him over it. But a strained hockey bond wouldn’t have caused physical symptoms beyond some clumsiness and hand-eye coordination issues.

It wasn’t the first time he’d played through pain, and the headache wasn’t even that bad. But this was just the beginning.

After practice, there was lunch with the rest of the team. Connor had started to feel nauseous by then, and lights had developed halos. Worse than that, though, was the way his skin started to ache. Skin-hunger, it was called. Connor’s body was yearning for Dylan’s on a very basic, chemical level. The only analogy Connor had for it was the way his skin felt when he had a high fever.

“You’re not hungry?” Hall asked him, when Connor barely managed half his sandwich. 

“Man, I remember being a rookie,” Eberle said. “I was starving all the time.”

“Sometimes I get like this if I overexert myself,” Connor said with a shrug. “I’ll get the rest to go.”

Hall frowned at him. Connor ignored him and did have the rest of his sandwich boxed up. The headache was blinding and he desperately wanted to be home, in his room at Hallsy’s, where he wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. 

What he really wanted was to call Dylan. Phone calls weren’t as good as physical proximity, and they definitely weren’t as good as physical contact, but they were better than nothing. His body literally ached for Dylan’s, and if all he could have was his voice, then he’d take it. But they had agreed: no contact. If they had to do it, they’d do it clean. 

***

The symptoms ebbed and flowed over the next days and weeks. The headache was constant, the nausea intermittent, and the skin-hunger worst at night. Connor forced himself to eat, but he couldn’t force himself to sleep, and the circles under his eyes got so bad, his mom called to ask him if he was sick. The team doctor prescribed him iron tablets and told him to eat more dark leafy greens. 

Weirdly, hockey was easier than anything else. That part of Connor’s brain adjusted pretty quickly. Hockey, after all, hadn’t ever really been the point of his bond with Dylan. He could play hockey without Dylan. It was everything else he was struggling with. But everyone seemed to assume that if his hockey was fine, he was fine.

He wasn’t fine. 

He lasted three weeks before texting Dylan––in the middle of the night, when he was awake because he hurt too much to sleep. _Are you okay?_ he asked. _I feel terrible._

 _Me too_ , Dylan wrote back immediately. Connor honestly wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse to know that Dylan was being kept awake by the symptoms, too. _Didn’t know it’d hurt like this. Miss you._

 _Miss you, too_. Connor’s eyes suddenly ached fiercely. 

_You’re playing great, though._

_You’re watching?_

_Of course. I’ll always watch you, Davo._

Connor had to put the phone down. He was crying too hard to keep typing, and he knew it wouldn’t help break the bond. It would only make things harder. 

The next morning at breakfast, Hallsy blinked at him like he hadn’t actually seen Connor in weeks. “Jesus, dude, you look like shit.”

“Didn’t sleep much,” Connor mumbled. 

“Are you taking those pills the doctor gave you? ‘Cause you look like you’re dying.”

“I’m fine,” Connor said, forcing himself to look up. “Just tired.”

“Take a maintenance day, okay?” Hallsy said, gulping his coffee. “Seriously, you look like you’re gonna keel over.”

Connor didn’t argue. He was playing well enough, it was probably okay for him to take a maintenance day. He collapsed back into bed and, wonder of wonders, actually did sleep for a couple of hours. 

He woke up feeling marginally better. He could hear Hallsy banging around downstairs, talking to someone––probably Ebs. Connor stumbled down the stairs and came to a halt when he saw that it wasn’t Ebs in their living room as he’d expected, but one of the trainers. The team’s bond specialist. 

_Fuck_. 

“Hi Connor,” she said, smiling at him. “I know we met before, but you were meeting a lot of people at the time. I’m June. Taylor said you were under the weather. I came by to see how you were doing.”

“Oh,” he said. “Um. I’m okay.”

She just kept smiling at him. “Mind if we talk in private?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug, and led her back up the stairs to his room. 

His room was a disaster, he realized abruptly. He’d had no energy for anything except hockey, and there were clothes piled everywhere. And it probably kind of smelled. 

June patiently waited for him to clear a chair for her, and then she sat down and looked at him. Connor sat down on the bed across from her. 

“So,” she said. “First of all, anything you say to me is confidential. I’m a bond specialist. We’re covered by the same confidentiality agreements we would be if I was a therapist. I’m not going to tell the team anything you don’t want them to know.”

Connor nodded, looking down at his hands. 

“All of that having been said...” She leaned forward forcing Connor to catch her eye. “Connor, if you’re having a bond crisis, you should tell me. They can be very serious.”

Connor swallowed. “I’m just––adjusting,” he said. “I had a hockey bond with someone in Erie––my friend Dylan––and it’s taking a while to––”

“Connor, don’t lie to me,” June said quietly. “Your hockey is fine. But Taylor says you’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating. You’ve lost weight since you arrived in Edmonton. You’re borderline anemic. You’re clearly having headaches, and Taylor says he’s pretty sure he’s caught you vomiting a couple of times. These are classic symptoms of a bond crisis.”

Connor took a deep, shaky breath. “There was a girl––” he tried. 

“Connor.” June’s voice was quiet but implacable. “I’m who you tell. I don’t care if you’re gay. I really don’t.”

Connor squeezed his eyes shut. His throat was so tight he could barely get the words out. “The bond with Dylan wasn’t––isn’t––a hockey bond,” he finally choked out. “It was a romantic bond and it––it fucking hurts, oh God, it _hurts_.” He doubled over, arms wrapped around his stomach. 

“Oh Connor,” June sighed. “You should have said something.”

“There’s nothing anyone can do,” he said. “Everything I read said that there’s no pills or anything. Either it breaks or it doesn’t.”

“Do you want to break the bond?”

“No, but––but Edmonton didn’t want Dylan. I don’t know why, he’s really fucking good, and we’re better together. I don’t know why they didn’t want him. But they didn’t.”

“I think they were hoping you might bond with one of the other forwards,” she said. “If they had known––”

“If they’d known, they wouldn’t have taken either of us,” Connor said, sitting up to glare at her.

June frowned. “I don’t think that’s true, but I recognize that you’re in a difficult position. Though you should know that this isn’t the first time a hockey bond has covered up for something else.”

“Really?” Connor said, blinking. 

“Yes. It’s not exactly common,” she added, “but I can think of two cases off the top of my head of a bonded pair who plays together and they pass it off as a hockey bond.”

Connor frowned. “Do their teams know?”

“Yes.”

Connor frowned again. It was hard to think past the throbbing in his head, but... “Were they bonded when they arrived?”

“No, it happened afterward in both cases.”

Connor sighed. “So it wasn’t the same.”

“Not quite the same, no,” June said. “But in both cases, the team was willing to make concessions. The team was supportive. And I’m certain that the Oilers would be, too, if you told them.”

“Maybe,” Connor said doubtfully. “But even if they were––I can’t ask Dylan to come to a team that doesn’t want him. He’s already––it’s already been hard, because I am who I am, and he doesn’t want his success to always be tied to being my bondmate. I don’t blame him, either.”

June was quiet. “Well, that’s... harder,” she said at last. “Are you determined to try and go through with breaking the bond? I really don’t recommend it, but if you’re determined, I can help.”

Connor was silent. He didn’t want to, and he was certain that Dylan didn’t either. But what else could they do at this point? Everything else was too risky, and what he’d said about Dylan not wanting to play in his shadow was true. That’d been a problem even in Erie. 

“Yeah,” he finally said. “Please.”

June pursed her lips, clearly wanting to say more. “Okay,” she said. “Come see me tomorrow at the rink and we’ll talk.”

Connor nodded. “Thank you,” he said, looking up at her. 

He walked her out, taking her through the living room, where Hallsy was playing _Call of Duty_. “See you tomorrow, Connor,” June said at the door. “Bye, Taylor!”

“Bye, June!” Taylor replied, eyes still trained on the TV. But when Connor had shut the door behind her, Taylor paused the game and looked over. “Did you have a nice talk with June?”

Connor glared at him. “You don’t need to go talking about me to the trainers behind my back.”

“I do when you look half-dead,” Taylor said. “If you fall over in a dead faint, you know who’s gonna get in trouble for it? Me. _Taylor, how is it possible you didn’t you notice he was sick?_ They’d murder me if I let something happen to McJesus.”

“Don’t call me that,” Connor said. “And I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Taylor said. “I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m not dumb either, and we live together. You’re having a fucking bond crisis. Which is why I went to June.”

Connor scowled. “What do you know about it, anyway?”

“More than you think,” Hallsy snapped. “For fuck’s sake, Connor, bonds are complicated! Even hockey bonds can be complicated, which is why the team pays a goddamn bond specialist. Believe me, I know.”

There was a dark note in Taylor’s voice. It was enough to startle Connor out of his self-pitying stupor. He blinked at Hallsy, and a couple of pieces he hadn’t even been aware of fell into place. “They wanted me to bond with you. Didn’t they.”

Hallsy took a deep breath. “Let’s just saying that bonding with you would be ‘beneficial to my future on this team,’” he said, with air quotes and a sour expression. “But that’s not why I went to June,” he added hastily. “I mean, yeah, if we bonded, that’d be good for me. And you, I hope. But I went to her because you look sick all the time, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been hearing you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

“I don’t cry myself to sleep at night,” Connor said defensively. Taylor raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, I don’t do it a _lot_ ,” Connor amended. He groaned and threw himself down on the sofa. “Fuck, Hallsy. What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know, kid,” Taylor said. “I’m not your therapist or your bond specialist. I’m just your roommate. And in the spirit of that...” He leaned over and grabbed a second controller, tossing it in Connor’s direction. “A couple of hours of blowing shit up can’t hurt.”

***

Things got marginally better over the next couple of weeks. Just knowing that Taylor and June knew made things better, and June had some methods for dealing with the physical pain that at least took the edge off. No one had yet invented a painkiller that could help with the symptoms of a strained bond, but there were mindfulness exercises and pressure point therapies that could help. 

The pressure point therapy was definitely the most effective strategy for Connor. It relieved the symptoms for longer than anything else, and it also just made him feel better to have someone touch him for an hour. It wasn’t anything like having Dylan touch him, but it lessened the skin-hunger enough for him to get through his day. 

He wondered how Dylan was coping, if he had anyone to do this for him. He suspected he didn’t. The Otters didn’t have a bond specialist on the payroll. It’s possible no one had even noticed what was happening to him. 

That thought made Connor incredibly sad. Things were a little better for him, but to imagine that Dylan was still utterly alone was horrible. And he’d heard enough from June by now about how important it was to be well-supported during the process of breaking a bond that it worried him, too. They’d know it was going to be painful, but neither of them had really thought of it as _dangerous_. 

He didn’t know what to do about it, though. Contact wasn’t going to do anything except draw the process out. And if Connor had found people to help him, then surely Dylan had, too, he reasoned. And even if he hadn’t... it couldn’t be Connor. 

About two weeks after June came to see him at the apartment, Connor woke suddenly in his bed at home from a bondmate dream, the first he’d had in a long time. He’d had them all the time in Erie, especially when he and Dylan had shared a bed. Skin contact during sleep almost guaranteed the sharing of dreams, emotions, sensations. It was less common when they slept apart, but he was still used to getting them a couple times a week. They’d almost always left him with a sense of well-being when he woke, of being safe and loved. 

This one was something else entirely. This dream made Connor feel as though all the air had been sucked out of the room, and he couldn’t get another breath in. He couldn’t recall much except the certainty that nothing was ever going to get better. _Despair_ , he thought, and realized he’d never really known the meaning of that word until now. 

“Fuck,” he said aloud, and rolled over, reaching for his phone. 

It rang twice before Dylan picked up. He didn’t say anything, but Connor could hear him breathing into the phone. “Dyl?” Connor whispered. “I got that dream from you. Are you okay?”

Dylan whimpered. There was no other word for it. Connor sat up in alarm. “Dylan?” he said again, urgently. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m in Erie,” Dylan said, voice strained. “I’m––Connor, I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I thought––I thought it’d get better. I just––I can’t fucking live like this. I can’t.” He let out a harsh sob. “I can’t. Connor, please.”

Connor didn’t know what Dylan was asking him for, but he did know that he’d do anything never to hear him say his name like that again. “Dylan, don’t––oh God, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

“I’m not, I’m not, I just...” Dylan’s voice broke. “I just want to be with you. I thought I wanted hockey more, I thought it’d be worth it, but it’s not.”

Connor closed his eyes. “Dylan, it’s because you’re in pain. I’ve been working with a bond specialist and it’s––it’s better, sort of. Maybe if you worked with someone––”

“I don’t want this to be better,” Dylan said. “I don’t want to get over it. I just want _you_.” He paused. “But you don’t feel the same way, do you?”

Connor didn’t know what to say. “I... I want to be with you, too,” he finally said. “I miss you so much. And it kills me to know you’re feeling like this, and I’m not there to make it better. But I––I want hockey, too.”

Dylan was quiet. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” he finally said dully. “Even if I quit hockey and moved to Edmonton, it wouldn’t matter.”

The resignation in Dylan’s voice made Connor’s stomach sink. This couldn’t go on, he realized. He was doing all right. Not good, but good enough. Dylan wasn’t. 

In the worst case, he thought, one of them would have to give up hockey. That would be awful, Connor thought, but hockey wasn’t worth this. He felt only a little guilty thinking it, as though he was betraying the sport in some way. Hockey wasn’t worth their health or their lives. And listening to Dylan breathing harshly on the other end of the line, Connor was starting to think that was what was at stake. 

“Listen, I need to talk to some people,” Connor said. “Let me see what I can do, all right? The bond specialist I’ve been working with, June––she seemed to think that the team might make concessions if they knew. I didn’t think you’d want that, but if they were willing––if they said you could come and play here, would you want to?”

Dylan was silent for a long time. Connor held tight to the phone and waited. “I think if you’d asked me that before all of this,” Dylan finally said, “I would’ve said no. I would’ve said I didn’t want to play on a team that only wanted me so they could have you.”

Connor swallowed. “And now?”

“Now... I don’t care.”

Connor nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m afraid you’re going to hate me when it’s all over.”

“I guess I can’t promise I won’t,” Dylan said. “But fuck, Connor. I miss you so much.”

Connor’s eyes burned. “I miss you, too. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dylan whispered. 

Connor let himself relax, slumping forward. “Think you can go back to sleep?”

“Doubt it. And I have to be up in an hour, anyway. You should, though.”

There was absolutely no chance he’d sleep, Connor thought. He lay down, though, with the phone pressed to his ear. “Don’t think I can. Talk to me. How is everyone? How’s the team?”

“To be honest, I’m probably not the person to ask. I’ve been kind of a dick, I think. I haven’t really been talking to anyone.”

Connor rolled onto his back. “I’m so sorry, Dyl.”

“It’s not really your fault. I’m not sure what we could’ve done differently.”

Connor sighed. “Been braver, maybe? I might’ve if I’d realized how bad it would be. And a couple weeks ago, after I talked to June––I should have called you.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Not any more than it was mine.”

Connor wasn’t sure he agreed. They both knew that if either of them had any real bargaining power, it was Connor. But he let it go. “I just hope June’s right.”

“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Me too.”

They fell quiet, then, but neither of them suggested they hang up. Connor could feel every mile that separated them, but for the first time, it didn’t feel insurmountable. 

***

It was a good thing they didn’t have a game the next day, because Connor was pretty sure he would’ve been a healthy scratch by the end of morning skate. He was distracted and nervous, and it showed. He missed shots, flubbed passes, allowed turnovers. 

He’d texted June before practice, saying he needed to talk, and she was waiting for him when he came off the ice. He ducked the curious––maybe even worried––gazes of his coach and the rest of his teammates and went with her as soon as he got his skates off. 

“I talked to Dylan last night,” Connor told her as soon as they were in her office with the door shut. He was aware that he was still wearing his gear and probably reeked, but he didn’t care. “We had a bond dream, and I called him, because it felt––wrong. Bad. He’s... he’s not doing well. And he says he’ll do anything, including give up hockey, if it means we can be together.”

June didn’t look surprised. “And what do you want, Connor? Last time we talked, you told me you wanted to break the bond. Have you changed your mind?”

Connor looked away. “I still think it would be easier, I guess, if we could. But last night––it sounded like it was killing him. Literally. But I’m afraid he’ll hate me later.”

June sighed. “Sit down, Connor,” she told him. He sat. “Bonds are complicated and hard. Dylan would not be the first to give up something significant for the sake of a bond. Ultimately it’s his decision.”

“But what the hell kind of decision is it,” Connor replied, leaning forward, “if he has to make it when he’s in pain? When he’s choosing between giving up hockey and feeling like _that_? How is that a choice? This is just––it’s not fucking fair.”

“No, it’s not,” June agreed quietly. “In many ways, bonds aren’t fair. Whole libraries have been written on the effect of bonds on things like personal agency and consent. I can recommend you a couple of books if you like.”

Connor snorted. He didn’t think a book was going to help them. 

“I thought that might be your reaction,” June said with a faint smile. “Some of them might be more useful than you think. But at the end of the day, this is the situation we have to deal with.”

Connor nodded. “And if he hates me later, I guess we’ll deal with that, too.” He dragged in a deep breath. “So what do I do?”

“Nothing, right now,” June said. “Go home, call your agent and have Dylan call his. I will talk to management. As the bond specialist you’ve been working with, I’m in the best position to explain the situation and make recommendations.”

Connor didn’t love that idea. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you work for the team. You don’t work for me.”

“That’s true,” she allowed. “But I also have professional ethical obligations. Besides, it’s clearly in the team’s best interest to keep you here, and that means bringing Dylan here, too.”

Connor nodded, ducking his head. “Thanks,” he said to his knees. 

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Go home, get some rest. I’ll be in touch.”

Connor had driven in with Taylor, but by the time he finished with June, showered, and changed, he’d already taken off. Connor grumbled but it wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford an Uber. He called one and then texted Dylan while he waited. _Talked to the bond specialist. I think we’re gonna be okay._

 _Thx,_ Dylan wrote back. _How was practice?_

_Terrible. Yours?_

Connor’s Uber arrived while he was waiting for Dylan’s answer. His phone buzzed as he climbed in. 

_No practice this morning,_ Dylan said. _For the best. My head is splitting._

Connor knew how he felt. Still, even this much contact was better than nothing. It might’ve been completely psychosomatic, but he felt like the pain was just a little duller today than it had been the day before. 

Hallsy’s car was in the driveway when Connor got out of the Uber. “Hey, asshole,” he said, letting himself in. “Thanks for leaving without me.”

“You were taking for-fucking-ever,” Taylor said, turning around on the sofa. “And we got you a burrito, so you’re welcome.”

“We” was Taylor and Ebs, apparently. Ebs was on the sofa, controller in hand. Connor grimaced. “Thanks, I guess. I’m not super hungry right now, think I’m going to lie down for a bit.”

“Okay. We might go out later, you want to––”

“No, thanks,” Connor said, and trudged upstairs. He fell over on his bed and was asleep in less than five minutes. 

He woke, sort of, when he felt the mattress dip, as though someone was climbing onto the bed. “Mmm?” he managed. 

“Just me,” Dylan murmured. “Go back to sleep, Davo.”

Connor was too sleepy to wonder about it. He went back to sleep. 

It was dark out when he woke again, to the growling of his stomach. He was hungry, he realized with some surprise. It’d been awhile since he hadn’t had to force himself to eat. Wait, no––he wasn’t hungry. He was _starving_. 

And he wasn’t alone. 

He’d had a dream about Dylan climbing into bed with him. But apparently it hadn’t been a dream at all, because Connor felt a familiar weight across his waist that his unconscious knew was Dylan’s arm, and he could feel Dylan’s nose, pressed into the back of his neck, the way they’d always slept. 

Connor rolled over. Dylan stirred with a grumble, then opened his eyes. “Hey, Davo,” he mumbled around a yawn.

“ _Dylan_ ,” Connor gasped, rolling over on top of him immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Dylan’s arms came up to hold him. “I had to see you. Told you, we’ve got three days with no games, and I just––I couldn’t stay in Erie, I had to see you.” 

“But what about––”

“I didn’t care,” Dylan interrupted him. “I just––I didn’t _care_ anymore, Connor.”

“Okay, okay,” Connor said, tightening his grip on Dylan. “I’m glad you’re here, Dyl. I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”

Dylan tucked his face into Connor’s neck. “Are you?”

Connor could hardly believe his ears. “Yeah, of course I am. What the fuck, Dylan?”

“You weren’t expecting me,” Dylan mumbled. “And you’re handling this so much better than me. I wasn’t sure if you’d really be glad to see me. But I couldn’t stay away.”

“If I’m handling it better, it’s only only because I have more people supporting me,” Connor said. “I’ve been seeing a fucking bond specialist every other day, and before that I was a disaster. Plus––can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how happy I am?”

He could certainly feel it on Dylan’s end. Bonds weren’t quite telepathic, but when emotions were running high, they got pretty close. Connor could feel Dylan’s relief, and his love for him, and also a mess of more complicated emotions beneath both of those: fear and worry and defiance and a little bit of anger. 

“I can,” Dylan said. “But you’re also really fucking worried.”

“Yeah,” Connor said. “So are you.”

“Yeah,” Dylan agreed. “But this is just... this feels too good for me to ever give up again.” He buried his face deeper into Connor’s neck, as though he could get any closer than they already were. Connor closed his eyes and breathed in. 

His stomach growled. 

Dylan laughed and lifted his head, just far enough to look at Connor. “Hungry, Davo?”

“Starving. I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. There’s a burrito downstairs––and I think we have some frozen pizza. Oh shit, Hallsy––”

“Taylor told me to tell you that he and Eberle were going to the movies and he was going to stay over there, and he’d see you at morning skate tomorrow if we weren’t so far into the ‘bone zone,’” Dylan made air quotes, “that you forgot to go. As if Connor McDavid would _ever_ forget to go to practice.”

Connor frowned. “I could––well, okay, I wouldn’t forget, but I guess I might... call out...” Dylan gave him an extremely dubious look. Connor shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah, okay, probably not.”

Dylan nosed into the space behind Connor’s ear. “Believe it or not, Connor, I know who I’m bonded to. Did I hear you say something about a burrito?”

“Yeah, come on.” Connor climbed off the bed and hauled Dylan up. He refused to let go of Dylan’s hand as they went downstairs, where they found a living room completely empty of interfering roommates. He dragged Dylan into the kitchen with him and got them both beers from the fridge to sip while he heated up the burrito and popped the frozen pizza into the oven. He knew he should make some vegetables, too, but he was way too hungry to wait. 

“I feel like I haven’t eaten in days.” Connor was wrapped around Dylan where they sat at the kitchen island, but he had one eye on the microwave, where the burrito was spinning idly in circles. “I thought I was doing all right with eating and sleeping.”

“I definitely wasn’t,” Dylan said. “I could murder two of those pizzas right now.”

“There’s a bunch more food in the fridge, and we can always order out,” Connor said. The microwave dinged. “Thank God.”

He split the burrito down the middle and set out salsa and hot sauce. They both fell on the food, and for a few minutes neither of them said anything. The kitchen island was huge, but they had pushed two stools close together, and they were touching all along their sides, from hip to shoulder. Connor could feel the bond drawing strength from their closeness. Repairing itself where it’d grown frayed. And it _had_ been fraying, he realized now. If they’d held out, it would’ve snapped eventually. 

They finished the burrito just in time for the timer to go off on the pizza. Connor pulled it out and sliced it up. “Want me to make another?” he asked. 

Dylan shook his head. “I think this’ll do it. Might be hungry again later.”

Connor thought he might be hungry for _days_. He’d really thought he’d been doing all right, but now that the bond was repairing itself, his body was screaming for calories. 

They finished the pizza off in record time and loaded the plates into the dishwasher. “Hey,” Dylan said, grabbing Connor by the hand. “C’mere.” He reeled Connor in and wrapped his arms around him. “We haven’t kissed yet, and that’s a fucking crime.”

Connor stopped him. “Let’s go upstairs. Because once I start kissing you, I’m not gonna want to stop, and I don’t think Taylor’s tolerance is gonna extend to sex in his kitchen.”

Dylan grinned. “Fair enough,” he said, and let Connor drag him back upstairs. 

Connor shut the door to his bedroom, which probably wasn’t necessary but made him feel safer. Then he turned, pulled Dylan to him, and kissed him. Dylan made a small noise, a little bit wounded but also needy and turned on, and Connor knew he’d made the right choice in getting them up here. Now that he had his hands on Dylan, he wasn’t letting go. 

There was something almost frantic about it. They had been separated for so long, and Connor had thought for most of that time that they would never have this ever again. And truthfully, he hadn’t even missed sex that much. His libido had been nonexistent; he’d barely even had the urge to jerk off, let alone hook-up. But it came roaring back now. Dylan was the only person he’d ever been with, and Connor was pretty sure his body had somehow, like, _imprinted_ on his. He knew what Dylan tasted like, sounded like, felt like; he knew where to touch and kiss to turn him on, how to keep him on the edge, how to tease him. And Dylan knew all the same things about him. 

And then there was the bond. Rom-coms loved bonds that snapped into place during sex, but in real life plenty of bondmates had sex and bonded afterward, or bonded and then had sex––or bonded and never had sex at all. Connor had had it drummed into him in health class that sex didn’t guarantee a bond, and a bond didn’t mean you had to have sex. 

But that didn’t mean that sex didn’t strengthen the bond, just like physical contact did. And Connor could feel how much healthier their bond was already, feel how much healthier _he_ was, too. He’d managed to ignore the skin-hunger he’d felt almost constantly, but now it was gone, and he could admit just how much it had hurt. 

Connor had to play the next day, and Dylan didn’t, so Connor ended up on top. Dylan liked it a little rough, but Connor loved opening him up, and he thought they’d both had more than enough pain lately. He took his time, making Dylan writhe to his heart’s content, and only when Dylan was literally begging for it did he slick himself up. 

“Come on, Davo, need you,” Dylan panted. “Need you inside me, please. Please.” He broke off into a series of broken-off swear words as Connor pressed himself inside. He curled down and Dylan curled up so they could press their foreheads together, panting into each other’s mouths. 

The bond snapped back into place. That sort of thing wasn’t supposed to happen, but Connor could swear he felt it. And he thought Dylan did, too, because he gasped and his fingernails dug into Connor’s back. 

“Come on,” Dylan said. “Come on, Davo, fuck me.”

Connor rolled his hips. Beneath him, Dylan shuddered. He locked his thighs around Connor’s hips and pressed the heel of his foot to the back of Dylan’s leg, urging him deeper, faster. He could feel Dylan’s pleasure sparking through the bond, echoing his own back at him. Maybe it was just that they’d gone months without it, but it felt _more_ somehow, than he remembered. 

“I’m not gonna last,” Dylan said. 

“Me neither,” Connor replied, barely able to get the words out. It would’ve been embarrassing how close he was, except he could feel that Dylan was right there with him. He grabbed Dylan’s dick, trying to jack him in time to the snap of his hips, but he could feel himself losing his rhythm. Dylan cried out and arched his back, pushing back to meet Connor’s thrusts, and then they were tumbling over the edge together. 

Connor actually whited out for a few seconds. That had never happened before.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dylan mumbled. 

“I’m. That was.”

“Yeah.”

Connor pulled out carefully. “You okay?”

Dylan nodded. He put his hand on the side of Connor’s face. “Love you.”

Connor pressed his forehead against Dylan’s. “Love you, too.”

Eventually their stomachs forced them out of bed. Connor stripped the sheets off the mattress and shoved them into the washer on his way to the kitchen. Dylan checked his messages, winced, and went to call his agent. 

Connor ordered Thai food, because he didn’t think frozen pizza for both lunch and dinner was a nutritionally sound life choice. He was sprawled on the sofa, flipping through Netflix in search of something they could watch over dinner, when Dylan came back down. He lay down on the sofa with his head in Connor’s lap. 

Connor stroked a hand through his hair and rubbed the nape of his neck. “Food’s on the way.”

“Thanks.” 

“How bad?” 

Dylan sighed, rolling over on his back to look up at Connor. “It’s a fucking mess. Oilers management knows I’m here, so I have a meeting with them tomorrow. Mike’ll be on the phone. And I guess that bond specialist you’ve been seeing will also be in the room.”

“Good. I like June.” Connor hesitated. “Did Mike say what your options were?”

“We talked out a few of them. They’re... not great.” Dylan grimaced. Then he looked up at Connor and his expression softened. “It’s gonna be okay, Davo. We’re gonna make it okay.”

“Yeah,” Connor said quietly. “I hope you’re right.”

***

Connor hadn’t been playing badly by any stretch of the imagination, but it wasn’t until practice the next morning that he realized he could have been playing better. He hit the ice and felt he’d had weights attached to his legs for months and suddenly they were off and he was fucking flying. 

“Someone ate his Wheaties this morning,” Nuge remarked. 

“Someone ate _something_ this morning,” Hallsy muttered, because he was the worst. Ebs smacked him, though, so Connor didn’t have to. 

It was hard not to feel good after that, even if he was still pretty fucking worried about what was going down upstairs. Dylan had been worried––more worried than he’d wanted Connor to realize, but there weren’t a lot of secrets between bondmates. He still hadn’t come back down when practice finished. Connor went to shower and change, and he came out to a message on his phone from Dylan: _Waiting for you in the car_.

“I’ll see you at home later,” Connor told Hallsy. 

“Everything okay?” Hallsy asked. 

Connor grimaced. “Guess I’m about to find out.”

Dylan was waiting with the engine running and the heater turned on. Connor put his stuff in the trunk and climbed in. 

“Hey, Davo,” Dylan said tiredly. 

“Hey.” Connor leaned over and kissed Dylan. “How was it?”

“Not as bad as it could have been, I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“The whole thing is a mess. Arizona has my rights, so the Oilers will have to trade for me, which they’re not thrilled about. And there’s no deal they’re willing to make that’ll guarantee keeping me in the NHL, and of course the Condors are in––”

“Bakersfield,” Connor finished. Somehow, he hadn’t even thought about that. “Shit. That doesn’t help us at all.”

“No, not really.” Dylan was quiet for a moment. “Do we want to get food?”

“Yeah, there’s a place I’ve gone with Hallsy a few times. The food is good and they usually seat us in the back where we don’t get bothered.” Connor released the brake and took them out of the parking lot. 

The restaurant was pretty near the practice rink, and Connor was relieved to see that none of his teammates had decided to get post-practice lunch there today. Their usual waitress was on, though, and she gestured them toward the back with a smile. “Thanks,” Connor murmured to her, and led Dylan back.

“So,” Connor said, once they’d gotten their waters and ordered their food. “Tell me about the rest of the meeting. You said they brought up the Condors––”

“Yeah,” Dylan said, cradling his water glass between his palms. “The consensus seemed to be that if I wasn’t good enough yet to stay up with the ‘Yotes, the Oilers weren’t going to want me yet either. But there was... another option. It’s not great and it’s kind of a long-shot, but it’s a possibility. The University of Alberta has a hockey team. They’re... not terrible.”

Connor looked sharply at him. “University hockey isn’t the NHL.”

“Neither is the AHL.” Dylan shrugged.. “But at least I’d be in Edmonton. I don’t know how much of an option it really is, though, since the semester’s already started. I don’t think they’d even entertain the idea of letting me play until January. And the university would have to admit me.”

“Your grades were always better than mine,” Connor said. “I bet they’d let you in.”

“Yeah. Maybe. They seemed to think it was a possibility.” 

They both went quiet. The waitress brought their food and they both dug in. For a few minutes there were only the sounds of two grown hockey players shoving food into their faces. 

Finally, Dylan sat back and took a long gulp of his water. “I dunno,” he said, as though they hadn’t paused the previous conversation at all, “it might not be a bad idea for me to do some university, if I can. Just in case I end up in Edmonton with no hockey at all.”

Connor almost choked on his chicken sandwich. “That isn’t going to happen.”

“I’m glad you think that,” Dylan said. “But we both know that you’re the one with all the leverage in this situation. I’m pretty good, but I’m not you, and I won’t ever be. They’re doing this in order to keep you here, not because they want me.”

Connor hated every word coming out of Dylan’s mouth. “You went third in the draft, Dyl. That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not once-in-a-generation talent, either, though, is it?” Dylan shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it. I had to.”

“But––”

“Connor,” Dylan sighed. “I’m glad you believe in me, but we need to be realistic. The most important thing to me is being with you. That means I’m gonna have to compromise.”

Connor looked away. “It’s not fucking fair.”

“No,” Dylan agreed. “It’s not. But I can live with how unfair it is. I guess question is––can you?”

“I can,” Connor said, throat suddenly tight, “as long as you can. I just––I’m so fucking afraid that someday you’ll wake up and you’ll resent the hell out of me. You’d have been better off––”

“Don’t say it––”

“––if we’d never bonded. You know it’s true,” Connor insisted, when Dylan shook his head. “Jesus, Dylan, it’s just so fucking unfair that I get everything I want and you don’t.”

Dylan didn’t answer. He went very quiet, but not as though he was mad, Connor thought––he hoped. More like he was thinking. When the waitress came back, Connor asked for the check, even though he wasn’t quite done eating. He paid, and the two of them left. 

They sat in silence in the car in the parking lot for a long time, just the faint sound of the engine and the heater blasting. 

“Dylan?” Connor finally said.

“Yeah.” Dylan cleared his throat and turned to look at Connor. “Listen, Davo, because I’m only going to say this once. You’re right: it’s fucking unfair. And I could be resentful as hell over it, and I don’t think anyone would blame me. But what the fuck would that do? We’re fucking bonded, and we tried to break it and it almost killed me. But also.” Dylan took a deep breath. “I don’t _want_ to break the bond. I love you. I love you so fucking much. So what I need you to do is to believe me, all right? When I say that I’m okay with this, and that whatever happens, I won’t hate you for it––I need you to believe me. Because I think this can work, but it _won’t_ work if you feel guilty about it.”

Connor raked a hand through his hair. “I can’t––I can’t just not feel guilty about it. But I can try.”

Dylan nodded. “Good enough, I guess.”

“But if you just let me...” Connor twisted around in his seat so he was facing Dylan straight on. “I’m only going to say this once, too, but please let me me, because I have to. I’m sorry, Dylan.”

“Don’t––”

“No, just let me get it out.” Connor took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that it’s working out like this. I never wanted it to happen this way. But I’m not sorry that you’re here. I’m not sorry that we’re going to be together. I just wish––I wish we had better options.”

Dylan nodded. “Me too. But I’m not sorry for our bond. Are you?”

Connor shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “No. I’m not sorry for it.”

“Good.” Dylan gave him a small smile. “Then I think we’ll be okay.”

“Yeah. I think so.” Connor leaned in and kissed Dylan. “I’m in this to win it. And you know how much I like winning.”

“I do know that,” Dylan said, still smiling, and leaned in to kiss Connor again. 

***

_Three months later..._

“Dylan?” Connor called as he came in the door. 

“Upstairs!” Dylan yelled back. 

Connor pried his boots off and hung up his coat. He navigated around the packing cartons that were still piled in the living room. A bunch more were flattened and stacked against the wall. Dylan had been busy while he was at morning skate. Neither of them had thought they had much stuff, but somehow the boxes had proliferated––and now both their mothers kept sending them things they thought they needed. Mostly it was kitchen stuff neither of them really knew how to use. They might turn on the slow cooker eventually. 

Dylan was in the loft that overlooked the living room. They’d stuck a bookcase and a desk up there, along with a beanbag chair that Taylor had claimed to want to get rid of anyway, and called it an office. Dylan actually seemed to sort of be using it that way, too. He was flopped on the beanbag with his laptop open.

“Hey,” Connor said. “How was campus?”

“Fine,” Dylan said, moving over so Connor could squish himself onto the beanbag with him. “Met with the coaches and an academic advisor. I think I got my schedule sorted out. Then I stopped by the bookstore. How was morning skate?”

“Fine,” Connor said shortly. 

Dylan glanced at him. “Guys still being weird?”

Connor shrugged. “I met with June right after skate, so by the time I made it to the locker room, a lot of people had left. Maybe I’ll just give them a couple of minutes after practice from now on. That way anyone who’s really bothered by it will be done in the shower by the time I get there. ”

“What? No,” Dylan said, turning to stare at him. “That’s fucking stupid, Davo. You’re gonna let them get away with being homophobic assholes? Because that’s all it is.”

“Yeah,” Connor said with a sigh. “I know.” Knowing didn’t make it better, though. June seemed to think the team would get used to it eventually, but Connor wasn’t so sure. He hadn’t expected this. He should have, he guessed. But while he’d worried about how management would react, he somehow hadn’t expected his teammates to be freaked out by it. And not all of them were; a lot of them had taken it in stride. But some of them definitely hadn’t, and it was weird all around. 

Dylan went back to poking around on his laptop. Connor leaned over and looked at the pile of books on the floor. He picked up one off the top and blinked at it. 

“ _The Ethics of Soul Bonds_?” he read slowly. 

“Yeah,” Dylan said, glancing over. “June suggested I take a course––and it covers one of my requirements anyway. I think it might be good to think about it in a way that isn’t so personal, you know? We’re not the first people this kind of thing has happened to. People’ve been dealing with it for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Connor said, shifting through the pile of books. In addition to the book about ethics, there was one about cognitive psychology and even one that looked like a biology textbook. “I guess that’s true.”

“I’m sure I’ll talk your ear off about it,” Dylan said, resting his head on Connor’s shoulder. “It’s so weird. University, you know? I guess I always thought if I was gonna go, it’d be after I was done with hockey. But it wasn’t bad today.”

“Good. I’m glad. I am, really,” Connor added, when Dylan looked at him. “I want this to work just as much as you do.”

“I just feel like you don’t still believe me when I say I’m fine with it,” Dylan muttered. 

“Well.” Connor hesitated. “I wouldn’t be.”

Dylan looked at him with an expression that was so fond Connor felt himself flush. “I know, Davo,” he said gently, “and that’s why this has to be the way we do it. It’s okay.” He kissed Connor with a hand on the side of his face and stood up. “Hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Sandwiches okay for lunch?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Connor said. “I’ll be right down.”

He listened to Dylan moving around in the kitchen downstairs, putting their sandwiches together. It was so much of what he had wanted those first terrible months in Edmonton, when he’d been sick with how much he’d missed Dylan. He’d wanted nothing more than for them to be together, and in some ways this was better than he’d imagined it could be. He had everything he wanted. Which made it sting all the more that Dylan didn’t. 

Dyan was right. Connor was who he was, and this had to be the way they made it work. If Dylan could accept that, Connor thought, then he should be able to, too. He _had_ to.

“Hey, Davo, want me to heat up some soup?” Dylan called up the stairs. 

“Yeah, sure,” Connor said. He shoved himself out of the beanbag chair to go help. 

Dylan was at the stove, pouring some pre-made tomato soup into a small pot. Connor hip-checked him out of the way so he could take over, then pulled Dylan back in so he could kiss the back of his neck. Dylan grinned at him, and Connor could feel his pleasure through the bond, light and bright. 

Whatever worked, Connor thought, in a moment of perfect clarity. Whatever let Dylan keep feeling like that, whatever let the two of them have this. Even if it wasn’t perfect, even if it wasn’t fair. 

He would do whatever it took to keep this.

_Fin._


End file.
